A
COPY of VERSES,
COMPOSED BY
Captain Henry Every,
LATELY
Gone to SEA to ſeek his FORTUNE
To the Tune of, The two Engliſh Travellers.
Licens'd according to Dider.
COme all you brave Boys, whoſe Courage is bold,
Will you venture with me, I'll glut you with Gold?
Make haſte unto Corona, a Ship you will find,
That's called the Fancy, will pleaſure your mind.
Captain Every is in her, and calls her his own;
He will box her about, Boys, before he has done:
French, Spaniard and Portugueſe, the Heathen likewiſe,
He has made a War with them until that he dies.
Her Model's like Wax, and ſhe ſails like the Wind,
She is rigged and fitted and curiouſly trimm'd,
And all things convenient has for his deſign;
God bleſs his poor Fancy, ſhe's bound for the Mine.
Farewel, fair Plimouth, and Cat-down be damn'd,
I once was Part-owner of moſt of that Land;
But as I am diſown'd, so I'll abdicate
My Perſon from England to attend on my Fate.
Then away from this Climate and temperate Zone,
To one that's more torrid, you'll hear I am gone,
With an hundred and fifty brave Sparks of this Age,
Who are fully reſolved their Foes to engage.
These Northern Parts are not thrifty for me,
I'll rise the Anterhiſe, that ſome Men ſhall ſee
I am not afraid to let the World know,
That to the South-Seas and to Perſia I'll go.
Our Names shall be blazed and ſpread in the Sky,
And many brave Places I hope to deſcry,
Where never a French man e'er yet has been,
Nor any proud Dutch man can ſay he has ſeen.
My Commiſſion is large, and I made it my ſelf,
And the Capſton ſhall ſtretch it full larger by half;
It was dated in Corona, believe it, my Friend,
From the Year Ninety three, unto the World's end.
I Honour St. George, and his Colours I were,
Good Quarters I give, but no Nation I ſpare,
The World muſt aſſiſt me with what I do want,
I'll give them my Bill, when my Money is ſcant.
Now this I do ſay and ſolemnly ſwear,
He that ſtrikes to St. George the better ſhall fare;
But he that refuſes, ſhall ſudenly ſpy
Strange Colours abroad of my Fancy to fly.
Four Chiviligies of Gold in a bloody Field,
Environ'd with green, now this is my Shield;
Yet call out for Quarter, before you do ſee
A bloody Flag out, which our Decree,
No Quarters to give, no Quarters to take,
We ſave nothing living, alas 'tis too late;
For we are now ſworn by the Bread and the Wine,
More ſerious we are than any Divine.
Now this is the Courſe I intend for to ſteer;
My falſe-hearted Nation, to you I declare,
I have done thee no wrong, thou muſt me forgive,
The Sword ſhall maintain me as long as I live.
London: Printed for Theophilus Lewis.
